


honeysuckle on the faint breeze

by concertconfetti



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Creature Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Dragon Geralt, Dragons are librarians, Fat Yennefer, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Communicating, Mentioned Guxart, Mentioned Vesemir (The Witcher), She is fat in this I will not be taking concrit at this time, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, geralt is a nerd, this fic is very soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:13:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28815441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/concertconfetti/pseuds/concertconfetti
Summary: Geralt is not good with people, which makes contributing to his family's horde of knowledge extremely difficult. Still, he has to try. A fateful meeting with a sorceress in Posada leads to a potential solution to his woes.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 30
Collections: The Witcher Quick Fic #04





	honeysuckle on the faint breeze

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Quick FIc #4 - squeaking it in lol 
> 
> Geralt is written as vaguely on the autism spectrum for this, but he wouldn't have the words to describe that experience so I haven't tagged it as such. Please let me know if there is anything, in particular, I haven't handled well regarding ASD - I'm always willing to learn.

Dragons don't get visitors, as a rule. They visit; take on the forms of folk and walk among them undetected (in theory), converse, learn, and horde their own libraries of knowledge. Geralt's family held a most fascinating collection, in his opinion, in their little keep in the mountains. A collection Geralt couldn't contribute to - he was broken. 

Well, in his opinion, anyway - their whole family was fucked up by dragon standards. Vesemir and Guxart were "mateless" males who'd raised a few collections of abandoned eggs. Most of their children were as they should be - polite, kind. The kind who made folk at ease. When their clutch was younger, it was presumed Lambert would be the problem child; he was wild, angry, and prone to arson as a kit. But pair Lambert up with Aiden, make him comfortable, and he could bring in books and stories and knowledge just as well as Eskel (who favors a human form over any available to him). 

And then there was Geralt. 

No one wanted to approach him in taverns or town squares. He never got the hang of his human form (he couldn't even begin to approximate an elf, gnome, or dwarf), and the monstrousness of his appearance did most of the work turning folks away. If not that, then perhaps it was that Geralt stumbled over the common tongue, who growled more than spoke. Geralt, who's white hair and amber eyes made most folk uncomfortable, let alone the claws and horns and spikes, the death pallor of his skin. 

Still, he had to _try_. 

Which was how he ended up here, in Posada, sitting on a well some distance from the main throngs of people. And there were throngs - some sort of Beltane festival Geralt never heard of or attended. Bards danced around town, donning masks and brightly colored doublets and tights. Townsfolk wore oranges and reds and blues; Geralt stood out like a sore thumb in a black cloak. 

"Well, now," a rich voice called out, "odd the see a dragon by their lonesome at a festival."

Geralt hummed. "They're… it's too loud," he said quietly. He turned his head just enough to catch sight of the woman standing near him. She smirked a lively spark in her violet eyes and took a seat next to him. Her soft, sandy brown skin contrasted nicely with the black and white gown she wore, which accentuated her large frame and curves. Geralt found her beautiful in every way.

A sorceress, then. _Fuck_.

"Never known a dragon to hang around when folk get too loud," she said softly. Geralt rolled his eyes and cast his gaze back down to the well's low water line. "What brings you here, sir…?"

"Geralt… just Geralt."

"Just Geralt," the sorceress repeated, her smile softening just a touch. "I'm Yennefer, by the way."

"I'm here to collect… to… shit," Geralt hissed. He hated common. "I'm here for the stories."

"Difficult task when you sulk over by a well," Yennefer observed. She reached, gently, for Geralt's hood and he caught her wrist, just as gently, his claws barely denting her skin.

"Don't," Geralt said and at the same time, Yennefer murmured, "I see."

Yennefer pulled her hand into Geralt's and squeezed it. "I have a very good friend who would love to meet you," she said, adding, "I can introduce you to him in exchange for a favor."

Here it was - sorceresses always wanted something. Geralt fixed her with a glare; Yennefer didn't back down. "What?" He growled.

"I want access to your family's library," she said simply. Geralt blinked.

"That's it?" He asked, incredulous. "No… powdered… horn or… whatever it is sorceresses usually ask for?" In truth, Geralt wasn't sure what sorceresses or mages might ask him for, but information? That seemed too easy.

Yennefer's laugh rang like bells around him, mixing with the music filling the town. "That's it, my dear," she said, "well, that and perhaps a meal this evening."

Geralt let go of Yennefer's hand and squared his shoulders. "I can't… I can't glamor myself completely," he said, gesturing to his hood. It was held off his head by cracked and damaged horns that sprouted from his temples and extended backward like branches. It was a wonder, really, that he could make them small enough for this form. 

"Oh, darling, I can help with that," Yennefer said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Give me a few moments and we'll be off." 

Yennefer was true to her word (though, to Geralt's great disappointment, he remained deathly pale) and he followed her deeper into town.

* * *

Yennefer's friend - "Jaskier, Bard" - opened his mouth as soon as Geralt entered the tavern   
and, seemingly, never closed it.

"Well, this is simply an honor," Jaskier breathed words out in a stream that was difficult to follow, though he didn't seem bothered by Geralt's scowl. "Yennefer you're a gem, I never thought I'd meet a *dragon* this early in my very young, yet already illustrious - well okay maybe not that illustrious, they did throw bread at me after a performance just the other day, can you believe that, Geralt? Bread! The gall. I did have food for the evening, at least -" 

"Perhaps you should rotate out the cycle about illegitimate children and abortion," Yennefer said dully as she flipped through one of Jaskier's songbooks, resting her legs on the corner of Jaskier's rented bed. Jaskier gaped. 

"I will have you know the people love --" 

"Oh, due folk show their appreciation through bread and rotten produce now?" Yennefer grinned, feral and fierce. "Jaskier, you're better than that cycle. Barely, but you are." 

Geralt hunched in the chair he'd been offered - he knew little of music, even less about this bard in particular. He cleared his throat and both Jaskier and Yennefer's gaze fell on him. 

"I'm, uh, not sure I'd want to hear a song about abortion," Geralt offered. Yennefer gestured toward him and Jaskier frowned. "

"It's not _about_ \- oh never mind, it doesn't matter," Jaskier said with a put-upon sigh. "It's not like I wrote that cycle anyway. So, Geralt, why has lovely Yennefer brought you to me." 

Geralt shifted uncomfortably. "I am not… good with people," he said slowly, "Or talking. But my family… we collect knowledge and stories." Here, he watched Jaskier's eyes grew wide and bright and a smile spread across his face. Perhaps he was a sorcerer, as well; it seemed unlikely that Geralt would stumble into two impossibly beautiful people in one village. Geralt swallowed around the rising tide of bashfulness in his chest. "I am _trying_ to… learn. From the people here but usually, people don't find me easy to approach." 

"Why ever not?" The question explodes from Jaskier. "You're lovely." A blush rose high on Geralt's cheeks and Yennefer let out a low chuckle. 

"Jaskier, you're good with people, and Geralt needs help with people," she said, shifting so she leaned forward on her knees. "I thought you'd want to escort him around the festival tonight - he can listen to folk and you can talk to them." 

Jaskier clapped his hands together excitedly. "Oh, that's - yes, that will be perfect. I could even write a few poems - oh! Oh, Yennefer hand me that songbook I need to write something down." Yennefer rolled her eyes and handed over the book; Jaskier produced a stick of graphite and started scribbling. 

"You'd want to write about me?" Geralt said, a sort of snarl forming on his face. Jaskier snorted. 

"Of course, dear heart," Jaskier said, flat and determined. "Perhaps it will even help you out - people might recognize you next time you come down from your… where do you live?" 

"Mountains." 

"Oh, not specific enough, but we'll work on it," Jaskier said with a grin. "Next time you come down from your mountain, people may recognize you, and things will be easier. I could be your barker!" 

That sounded like a _terrible_ idea, but Geralt didn't have any other options. "Fine," he growled. 

"Excellent. Let's get you into some more… festive clothing and we'll be off."

"What?"

"Yennefer, would you be so kind?" Jaskier said with a mock bow. Yennefer returned it with a deep curtsy. 

"I'd be delighted," she said with the same fierce grin. "Come here, Geralt, let's get you dressed." It was going to be a long evening.

* * *

Yennefer, thankfully, kept Geralt in blacks and reds. He unhappily gave up his cloak - he was aware, even now, of every pair of eyes on him. Jaskier did his best, but folk still shied away from them both - well, humans, mostly. Jaskier was talking to an evellian friend of his from Novigrad, here specifically for Beltane and he seemed… if not at ease with Geralt's presence, then at least good at hiding his disgust. 

"Elihal, love, these masks are truly the best of your work," Jaskier said, holding up an elegantly carved wolf mask. 

"Flatterer," Elihal said with a knowing grin, "You'll still need to pay full price for them, buttercup." 

Jaskier frowned. "You know I would, Elihal," he said softly, though he lay the mask back down on its velvet stand. 

"I know, Jaskier." 

Geralt frowned. He had a small amount of gold on him, and Jaskier really was doing him a favor - the small journal he brought with him was nearly full of dance patterns, snatches of music, and stories of spring and the spirits the folk here worshiped (in their own ways, whether they realized it or not). They'd only been out for an hour or so now; Elihal's stand sold journals of a similar make, along with the masks. 

"How much?" Geralt said before he caught himself. Jaskier turned on him, stunned. 

"Geralt you don't -" 

"A gold each for the masks, ser," Elihal said over Jaskier's protests. "And 5 silver for the journals you've been eyeing." 

Geralt nodded. "Jaskier, pick out a mask," he said gruffly, pulling out the appropriate coins. Instead of protesting, Jaskier picked out two - a jaguar and the wold mask he'd coveted. 

"Here," he said, offering him the wolf, "Perhaps it will ease things once we enter the throngs again!" Geralt grunted; it wasn't a bad idea. Elihal grinned. 

"Excellent plan - the lot will be 2 gold and five silver pieces," He said brightly. Geralt nodded. At least he'd have something to sketch later when he wrote about this interaction.

* * *

The mask, as it happens, did help immensely. Geralt found himself talking animatedly with anthropologists and scholars studying monsters, cheerfully imparting what he knew about griffins and drowners and alghouls. It was also possible the alcohol helped - he'd had quite a bit of the sweet meads and ales traditional to this part of the Continent, and abandoned his notes and brooding place behind Jaskier for a spot off to the side. 

"Truly?" A scholar asked him, the tone of his voice slurred just slightly. "Dragonkind can speak the common tongue?" 

"Yes, it's just that few people attempt to speak to them before yelling 'ah, dragon' and hiring someone to kill them," Geralt said, gruffly gesturing with his hands. "More often than not they're just protecting their young and mean folk no harm." 

"Oh, this throws my entire theory of husbandry out the window," another scholar mourned, "I'll need to make revisions immediately." 

Geralt nodded and caught Jaskier's eye. The bard was entertaining a group of children with a grandiose (and inaccurate) tale of a dragon who kept a princess as his horde. Jaskier grinned back at Geralt and winked, and something in the dragon settled. Perhaps he could do this, after all. He'd just needed to find the right people. Yennefer danced into his vision, quite literally, with another mage; her partner had long, flouncy chestnut curls that whirled around her as she danced and laughed with Yennefer. Perhaps he'd have the honor of meeting her, as well, before he made his way back up the mountain. 

He'd have to explain things to Vesemir and Guxart - dragons didn't host visitors as a rule. But surely they'd see the utility, not just to their collection but to Geralt's life. A little information in exchange for feeling… not whole, not exactly, but lively. _Happy_ , he thought, and a soft grin spread across his face. 

That was definitely the mead talking, but he'd hold onto this feeling for as long as he could.

**Author's Note:**

> title from Heretic Pride by The Mountain Goats


End file.
